


Seven Ways to Care

by friendlyneighborhoodfairy, SnowfallBreeze (friendlyneighborhoodfairy)



Series: Snow/FNF's Nonbinary Month fics 2017 [13]
Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Cooking, Family Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Genderqueer, Misgendering, Name Changes, crime sorciere being sweet to each other, grumpy people still care, mind-reading
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 10:02:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12010416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyneighborhoodfairy/pseuds/friendlyneighborhoodfairy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyneighborhoodfairy/pseuds/SnowfallBreeze
Summary: {Nonbinary Month #13} Even cooking for their guild doesn't distract Midnight from what they read in Fiore's official pardon. They hate seeing their old name; but they moodily suffer in silence until Erik and Jellal bring it up.





	Seven Ways to Care

**Author's Note:**

> Fairy Tail + genderqueer.
> 
> Today is my twelfth day of work in a row, so I blame typos on tiredness. O_O

Midnight stares at the bubbling water for a long time before Sawyer shakes them.

"Oi! Pot's boiling."

Jerking, Midnight adds things, finds a sturdy stick, and prods the now-cooking ingredients.

"Don't nod off, yeah?" Sawyer teases. He knows they can't help it.

"I wasn't actually sleeping," they say. "Just thinking."

"Sure looked like sleeping," Sorano grumps from across the makeshift fire. She's been pissy the last few days. Too much time around the same people.

Richard, who's been quiet all afternoon, walks over to her and holds out something in his hand.

"I picked this for you."

Sorano looks at the offering, then up at Richard, taking it in confusion.

It's a single white flower, several strange petals zigzagging out.

"It's pretty," she says softly, begrudging, like she doesn't want to admit his gift is precious.

"It's rare," Richard says. "An orchid. They call them ghosts because it's so unusual to see one. A ghost isn't quite an angel…"

He spreads his hands, apologetic. But Sorano holds the flower up to her face, a private smile gracing her lips.

"Thank you," she murmurs.

Richard nods as if this gesture is just a kind act for a friend, and it is; but it is also Richard's way of smoothing over spirits, making things better for everyone, lightening the load. That's who he is.

"Where are the others?" Midnight asks, looking around.

Sawyer ticks off his fingers. "Collecting wood, relieving themselves, and I don't know. Meledy is the I-don't-know one."

"She's the one who can't handle too much flavoring," they say. "Ugh. I need her to taste this."

"You'll have to wait."

"Can't," Midnight huffs. "Well, she can't complain if she doesn't like it."

"Hey now—" Richard starts, but Sawyer breaks in. "She was here a few minutes ago. You could've asked her then." He snorts a laugh. "See, I  _knew_  you were asleep."

"I wasn't," they say, but they aren't intent on arguing.

They're thinking again. About that sheet of paper.

"Did you guys see the pardon?" they ask.

Even Sorano looks up.

"Jellal said he wants to frame it," she laughs.

Erik appears behind them, and Midnight has to try very hard not to jump at his voice.

"It's just a fancy paper, isn't?"

"Sure," Midnight says.

The pardon is just that: fancy script on fancy paper with a shiny seal. Pardoning them for all their crimes. On darker days, Sorano grumbles that it hasn't changed anything, but the guild knows that's not true. They're still on the road, still camping out, but that'll end soon. Once they find a place to build, they'll get an actual guildhall. They'll finally have a home.

Midnight has never had a home like that, and they're more than a little excited—secretly, of course. Have to maintain their bored-punk stoicism.

"So what's it say?" Richard asks.

"What?" Midnight looks up. "Oh. I don't know. I was just wondering."

They do know. The pardon says,  _The following individuals are forthwith pardoned from crimes against the state…_  And then it lists them alphabetically by surname:  _Richard Buchanan, Jellal Fernandes, Macbeth_ —

That's as far as they got reading over Jellal's shoulder, but it was enough. Because the paper said  _Macbeth._  It was listing everyone's true names, no codes or hiding or fugitive status anymore…but while everyone else gets their real name on that sheet of paper, declared in bold ink that they are free, Midnight's name is a fraud, a laughable humiliation they wish they could forget.

Erik is looking at them and they think as loudly as possible:  _it's really annoying when teammates read your mind._  He shrugs and drops a bunch of wood next to them.

"For the chef," he says.

"Thanks."

They're not thinking,  _not_   _thinking,_  about how upset seeing the name Macbeth made them.

Erik probably hears the thought anyway.

* * *

Erik must have said something to Meledy. After dinner, they're all sitting around poking sticks at the fire when she scoots over next to Midnight and leans her on their shoulder.

"Hi," she sighs, as if that makes up for any inconvenience. Meledy's life motto: cuddle first, ask forgiveness later.

"Hi," they say, smiling. Unlike certain other people— _cough,_  Erik—they don't mind. Physical touch has been rare in their life.

"Sleep well lately?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"Stop sleeping on the road," Sawyer pipes up.

"Why?" Midnight chuckles. "I keep up, don't I?"

"It's creepy."

They let out a laugh. "Really?"

"Yeah, Sawyer," Erik puts in, "what's creepy about a little punk napping on their cloak while zooming after you?"

Sawyer sticks his tongue out. For some reason, this gets everyone else laughing.

"That was really good food," Meledy says exuberantly, like Midnight's cooking explains the jubilance. "Where'd you learn how to make…whatever that was?"

"Type of okayu." They shrug. "Same place I learned how to cook anything."

"In your dreams." Meledy grins. It's infectious.

"Yeah," they smile. "In my dreams."

"Have you learned anything else in your dreams besides cooking?"

Midnight looks over in surprise. They often assume they've heard every possible question, because Meledy is always asking self-revelatory things, but she always comes up with something new.

"Make-up," they say, decisive.

She snorts, then claps a hand over her mouth.

"Serious?"

"Yeah. I knew what it looked like—what I wanted to look like. But I never got to practice until…" They wave their hand: until whatever age they were when Brain took Midnight and the others out of that hellhole of a tower. Midnight and Sawyer don't know their birthdays, so they can't actually be sure how old they are.

"The first time Ultear let me use her make-up," Meledy says, "I felt like I became a whole different person."

They nod, nudging her head where it rests against their neck.

"For me," they say, "I felt more real."

They're expecting the next question:  _You mean more like yourself?_  They have their answer ready.  _No, more real. I've always been myself._

"That's cool," Meledy merely says, sighing again. She sighs a lot when she's contented.

"I have no idea what either of you just said," Jellal says, looking back and forth between them in utter confusion. "More real?"

Meledy throws a half-burnt twig at him.

"You don't understand because you're an ass who  _still_  doesn't know himself."

"Hey!" Jellal protests, throwing the twig back at her.

Midnight is tensing, though, because they know—know that she's right, in a way she doesn't even know, and in a way which is dangerous, painful, to bring up. Meledy's life wasn't easy, but at least she doesn't remember the worst parts of what happened to her. She never dealt with the really bad parts of PTSD; Midnight is pretty sure she hasn't experienced dissociation for herself.

Unlike the rest of them. Unlike Jellal.

But before another word is said, Erik drops an entire log on the fire, showering everyone in sparks.

"Oi!" Jellal shouts, raising his voice for real.

"Oops," he says, not remotely penitent. He turns to Sawyer. "Mine was bigger."

Sawyer pouts. "That's what she said."

"She?"

"Some women have cocks, you know."

"Yeah, but hormones make it  _smaller._ "

"Not everyone transitions with hormones, asshole," Sawyer spits back. "Some people can't afford them."

"Some people don't want to take them," Jellal puts in, still irritated. "Some people don't experience dysphoria."

Erik holds up his hands.

"Alright, I was wrong, fine. You can be a dick about it, Sawyer, but I still won."

Sawyer reaches for a log of his own. Seeing the move, Erik makes a dive for the woodpile.

"Children," Sorano says coldly, and the pair freezes, "sit down and behave."

While Sawyer drops the wood from his hand, he and Erik subtly try to make it look like the messed-up woodpile is the other's fault.

"Better," Sorano says. If there's anything she's good for, it's keeping the rest of them from burning the camp to the ground. They're probably only alive because of her.

As calm quiet falls, she's still clutching her ghost orchid. Every so often she draws it across her cheek, like the touch of the flower holds the same comfort as a human hand. Maybe it does. That's the amazing thing about flowers—about gifts in general. They feel like a bit of the person themselves. Maybe that's what Richard is so good at: leaving pieces of himself lying around everywhere to take care of people.

Meledy's tinkling laugh breaks the silence. When everyone relaxes, Midnight finds their chest easing. It's not that they can't take banter. They've just been stressed since seeing that stupid pardon. It gnaws at them—and here they are thinking about it again. Which'll mean wearying dreams tonight running away from a crowd of people trying to call them  _Macbeth._  A boy's name. The world is so stupid sometimes.

Meledy's hand on their arm halts them in their depressing train of thought. They wait for her to say something, but when she speaks, it's to everyone.

"We need to discuss whether we're renaming the guild."

"Renaming?" Richard asks in surprise.

"We're legal now, Richard," Sorano says. "Don't want people thinking we're not. Or that we're clinging to the past."

"Exactly," Meledy says.

"Idiots Poking Sticks Into Fires has a good ring to it," Jellal snorts.

"Orchid," Sorano says blithely, then laughs: "Better yet, Ghost. Then we can all say we're guildmates of dead people."

Midnight can feel Meledy rolling her eyes.

"Serious names, guys. Or else arguments for keeping Crime Sorciere."

"It's…easy to remember?" Jellal tries. "Because we've already been using it?"

"It's  _not_  easy to remember," Sawyer argues. "We could pick something shorter. And plainer."

"Like Oracion Seis was any better," Midnight grumbles. "Or Grimoire Heart. We're all crap at guild names."

"We can't hide the fact that we're the ones who tried to end the world a couple different ways," Erik says, standing with arms crossed.

People go quiet.

"We're not going to get people to forget who we are just by changing our name," he says. "Maybe we shouldn't try to. If we're pardoned, let's be pardoned. Who cares if we used to be a dark guild? Plenty of guilds started dark before joining the charter. If people remember an overly-complicated name like Crime Sorciere, then they'll remember that we're powerful and we get stuff done. If they're scared of us, they'll just have to learn not to be. Or stay scared, whatever."

There's a long silence.

"So what you're saying," Jellal clarifies, "is that the name doesn't matter."

"Names always matter," Midnight says before they can stop themself.

Everyone looks at them. Seeing way more of Midnight's vulnerable soul than they intended to let show. Crap.

"I'm sorry about the pardon, Midnight," Jellal says. "It's weird they hyphenated it like that."

"I…" Midnight says, choked. "Wait, hyphenated? What's hyphenated?"

Jellal sighs.

"I assumed you saw. Your name on the pardon: Macbeth-Midnight." Jellal spreads his hands. "I think they had to put your legal name, as written on the birth certification Brain made up years ago, but why they hyphenated it with your actual name…I don't know."

Midnight swallows. These words make sense. And it's nice to know—to realize that yes, of course they had to put the legal name of Macbeth on there to make Midnight's pardon absolutely official. It's just that right now they're feeling a bit exposed having all this said in front of everyone else, guildmates thinking Midnight is insecure. In reality, Midnight knows who they are, and a piece of paper doesn't change that, but it made them feel invisible and that's what had them upset

"We could hyphenate Crime Sorciere," Sawyer says.

"What?"

Everyone turns to him, attention leaving Midnight in an instant. Sorano is the one who starts laughing, and once going, she can't stop. She falls sideways against Meledy, nearly knocking both her and Midnight over, and next thing Midnight knows two women helpless with giggles are supporting themselves on their shoulder.

"That's the stupidest thing you've ever said," Erik says. "Which is saying a lot."

"Ended that stupid awkward silence," Sawyer grumbles.

"I want dessert." Erik looks pointedly at Midnight.

"Dessert?" Jellal and Richard say at the same time, while Meledy perks up so much she stops laughing.

"It smells amazing," Erik puts in.

"I had a lot of extra rice," Midnight says. "So I made dango."

As soon as they bring out the dumplings, everyone makes a grab for them. Erik and Jellal start browning theirs over the fire on sticks, while Sawyer eats each of his in one gulp, licking his fingers like this is the best thing he's ever eaten.

"You're the best," Meledy says, eating in dainty nibbles—whenever she gets sweets, she tries to make them last as long as possible.

Midnight smiles. They love cooking. For other people, obviously; it's no fun making food just for yourself. This is  _their_  way of leaving bits of their soul out to care for their friends, just like Richard gives good gifts and Meledy warm cuddles.

Maybe Jellal's way is by clearing the air. He has an uncanny way of saying the things everyone else avoids, and while it's uncomfortable at the time, Midnight is already feeling better about the stupid pardon. Sorano's way is her steadfastness: she may be a bitch sometimes (and proud of it), but she doesn't hesitate to do whatever is necessary for her friends. Sawyer's way is by making everyone laugh and getting their minds off the sucky things.

"Midnight." Erik taps their shoulder, quiet so the others don't pay any mind. "Got this for you."

He shuffles some papers into Midnight's hands. They look down at the papers in confusion.

"Figured you might want it," he says gruffly. His dark skin has gotten darker and he's distinctly not looking at Midnight.

They're the forms for changing your name.

"Where did you get these?" they ask, hushed.

"Town we stayed in a couple nights ago had a legal office. I dropped by, saw they had this. Picked it up just in case."

"In case."

"Do whatever you want with them," Erik grunts. "Just…you know. Now you have them."

Midnight hadn't mentioned their name-change idea to anyone yet. The thought had been tumbling around the back of their mind since seeing the pardon, considering whether to finally get their stupid papers changed with the kingdom or whether they were just going to give the finger to the government and not care what papers said.

Erik got these papers on purpose, they realize. He overheard the little thoughts about a name change, their frustration about the pardon going round and round their head the last few days.

That's Erik's gift: he hears everything, and he does those services which nobody else would think to do. Does them quietly and in the background—he hates recognition. But Erik getting these papers is like one of Meledy's hugs.

"You don't have to get all sentimental," Erik grumbles.

"I didn't say anything."

Erik rolls their eyes as they grin at him.

"Thank you."

"Yeah."

"Give it back!" Sorano squeals, diving for Sawyer who has just stolen one of her dumplings. "You do not get to take Midnight's cooking from me!"

When Midnight looks back around, Erik has resettled in his place by the fire. Smiling, Midnight tucks the forms away in an inside pocket, over their heart.

It doesn't matter how imperfect they all are; they're all good people and Midnight loves this guild.

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally planning for this to be more raw, but I like that Midnight turned out so calm in themself.


End file.
